Science in Motion
by Lupa Eira
Summary: Sherlock is a lead dancer at the Royal Ballet, and Rose Tyler is the assistant conductor. The principal conductor has a medical emergency, and Rose is asked to step in. Roselock AU. Rose's adventures with the Doctor are still canon, as are many of Sherlock's detective adventures. Now with the Doctor, Amy, Rory, and River (in original roles). Just go with it.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary: Sherlock is a lead dancer at the Royal Ballet, and Rose Tyler is the assistant conductor. The principal conductor has a medical emergency, and Rose is asked to step in, when she's only just been appointed and has had no time to work with the orchestra. Roselock AU. Oneshot. Rose's adventures with the Doctor are still canon, as are many of Sherlock's detective adventures. Just go with it. Long fic is long.**

**They say write what you know. And I know classical music and conducting. And I love ballet even though I really know nothing about it. So. Here you go. Conductor/Dancer AU. Sherlock is a ballet dancer because it's canon as of Season 3 that Sherlock loves dancing and I just ran with it. And Rose is a conductor because I love conducting and she'd probably be awesome at it. Just trust me?**

**I believe that classical music is for everyone. It's just that not everyone has experienced it yet. So please don't try to tell me that Rose Tyler wouldn't listen to classical music because she's "not the right kind of person".**

**One last note: I have tried really, really hard not to make this OOC for either character. I know that the premise seems unlikely, but really, I've tried my best not to impose my own desires on these characters to the point where they're nothing like themselves. Also I'm American, not from the UK, so I may mix up some English terms with American ones, and I am not familiar with the technicalities of ballet, so I may mix up some stuff there as well. Be patient with my mistakes, please, and politely correct me in the reviews if necessary!**

* * *

Rose was feeling a little shaky. _You'll be fine_, they said. _Isn't this what you wanted?_ they said. Dreaming about conducting a full ballet, at the Royal Ballet, with one of her favorite ballets from one of her favorite composers, was one thing, but actually stepping up to the podium to do it? That was something else entirely.

Most people didn't really think "classical music" when they looked at Rose Tyler. Most people didn't think "aliens" or "former secret agent" either, but Rose Tyler wasn't exactly someone to take at first glance. Who would guess, really, that the blonde Vitex heiress was really from another universe and travelled with a man called the Doctor, who was an alien, whom she had loved with all her heart and soul?

Who would guess, really, that she loved classical music?

Rose wasn't really sure where it started, exactly. Certainly not in the shops or at home; all that played in either location was pop. Her earliest distinct memory of the style was hearing a commercial on the telly using Luciano Pavarotti's version of _Nessun Dorma_, not that she knew what it was at the time. Another time it was _Also Sprach Zarathustra_, or _In the Hall of the Mountain King, Die Fledermaus_, and of course _Habanera_. The music was used in a humorous way on the telly, but somehow it spoke to Rose, voiced something to her she didn't even know she wanted. Secretly, as though she was doing something forbidden or perhaps sacred, she sought out classical music on YouTube, in books in the library, everywhere. She couldn't afford to even rent an instrument to play, and her singing voice was no good, so there was no way for her to partake in the making of the sound. Or so Rose thought.

Rose made the mistake once of mentioning her love of this style in school once, during year eight. They had been studying King Arthur, and what else would she think of but Wagner's _Parsifal_ and _Tristan and Isolde_? The whole class stared as she had rambled about the thematic similarities and contrasts to the original stories and of Wagner's interpretations of the characters as opposed to Sir Thomas Malory's, and as Rose spoke she felt the music inside her swell, filling up her head, crescendo after crescendo, ascending to sacred heights in the stars of her eyes.

Her teacher had spoken to her enthusiastically after class of her comparison, inquiring after any other knowledge she might have, but as soon as she left the safety of the classroom for the halls, the giggles and the stares followed her, and the teasing began. It was toward the end of the year, and she came back to school, year nine, bubbly and blonde and stupid so that it would all stop, even though inside it didn't make sense, and the incident was forgotten by everyone. Was she really better off being "that dumb slut Rose Tyler" than "that weird freak Rose Tyler"? Maybe so, maybe not. But it didn't really matter after a while. Rose stopped listening, and she stopped looking, and she stopped feeling. She had thought that Jimmy Stone or even Mickey might help to alleviate some of the emptiness, but nothing ever came close to what music meant to her. It's funny what lengths people will go to to fit in when really they're meant to stand out.

Sometimes, after long monotonous days working at the shop, she would plug her headphones in and listen, silently, to a suite or a ballet or an opera or a symphony, for hours, staring up at the ceiling, staring out her window at the stars. Somehow, it spoke her longing for an extraordinary life better than any words ever could. But only sometimes, when she was feeling so far from herself it was like she wasn't even breathing.

Only when she began her travels with the Doctor did Rose dare to explore that side of herself again. At her request, in between or on adventures, they would go to the ballet, to the opera, to the symphony-they would see live performances of operas, with Rose's favorite singers or conductors, they would see the first performances of pieces with the original composers-Rose would ramble on and on, wide-eyed, about the history before and after the concerts as well as during intermission, but would be absolutely silent, reverent, during the actual performances. The Doctor, as it turned out, knew quite a lot, but not as much as she did. (Rose never saw his quiet looks of reverence, almost awe, at her enthusiasm.) And occasionally, yes, there would be some kind of alien involvement. Rose was very proud to say that she had once saved Wagner himself at the premiere of _Tristan and Isolde_. Him being her all-time favorite composer, it was easy to be starstruck for the first few minutes until he made an offhand comment about Jews and make a pass at her in the same breath, wherein she fully discovered for herself that he was a complete arse. It was, suffice to say, an eye-opening experience.

Rose Tyler-companion to the Doctor, shop girl, Defender of the Earth, Bad Wolf. Music lover.

She had won her spot as the assistant conductor to the Royal Ballet and Opera conducting the overture to Leonard Bernstein's _Candide_ and, also, the overture to the opera that had caused her so much heartache in the first place: _Parsifal_. She had worked as a Torchwood agent for a while, but if she was honest with herself, a life like that wasn't ideal for her unless she was with the Doctor. So Rose pursued her innermost heart, and threw herself into learning piano, into university work, into everything she could possibly get her hands on, until she finally, at the age of thirty-one, earned this place at the Royal Opera. Of course, she had to balance this job with the occasional alien invasion and general Torchwood work on the weekends if her father asked, as well as appearances as the Vitex heiress, but it was a good life. Sometimes she spent her days in negotiations with non-hostile aliens, sometimes in very hostile fights, but mostly, she spent her days indoors, letting her own ears take her to the stars, to the places where she could not go anymore.

Being the Bad Wolf, of course, Rose sometimes cheated. Having all the knowledge in the universe at one point in time that she could still sporadically access made studying all major conductors and music theory easy, even though she was in a different universe. She still had to physically practice conducting, of course, and go to university for it, and earn her way through several more minor orchestras to make it this far, but it was just like firing a gun: it took both practice and instinct. Just like saving the world. Her mother repeatedly stated that she didn't understand Rose's choices, that it wasn't from her or her father (Rose knew she wasn't trying to be offensive, and that she far approved of this over Torchwood, but that didn't stop it hurting a little). Pete quietly promised her with a smile that he would be at the premiere, in the orchestra seating. In some ways, that felt better than saving the world.

Rose stared at the door to the theater, where the orchestra was waiting for her. Taking a deep breath, she pushed open the door and walked in.

* * *

There was a new conductor, and they only had three days to rehearse.

"Sentiment," Sherlock muttered like a curse, securing his footwear for rehearsal. The real conductor had been compromised by a severe medical condition, one Sherlock understood to be a brain injury (though he couldn't count on the ballet girls as a real source of information). Sherlock threw on a t-shirt for rehearsal and exited his dressing room with a huff, heading toward the stage.

Ballet, to Sherlock, was science in motion. The chemistry of movement was ever-fascinating and crucial knowledge if one wished to be successful in this field, at least in Sherlock's opinion. Since he was the principal male dancer at the Royal Ballet, no one could really argue with him. Sherlock was well versed in not only balletic technique, but also anatomy, physiology, chemistry, and other biology which pertained to his craft. He also had one more gift-his keen observation. Sherlock called it "deduction".

He originally had gotten into ballet at an unusually late age (in his early teens), but the story that followed more than made up for a late start. Sent into rehab for the first time at the tender age of thirteen, Sherlock's counselor suggested physical activity to help quiet his mind. Since he had already begun to master several forms of martial arts, young Sherlock had thought the suggestion quite ludicrous until she mentioned ballet. She told him that it was far more physically strenuous than virtually any other physical activity (excepting activities such as drum and bugle corps, pole dancing, and a few others) and noted more importantly that it would mentally challenge him for years. Considering that his other option was going to jail, Sherlock complied, and unexpectedly fell in love with it.

Because of his extraordinary physical and mental capabilities, Sherlock was held in a mixture of awe and fear by the rest of the dancers. Irene Adler, the former Prima Ballerina, alternately snubbed him and flirted with him. He tolerated that because she was nearly his intellectual equal. That is, until she herself quit to become a full-time Dominatrix, as she styled herself. She was hastily replaced by a ballerina named Meg. The new one was blonde, giggly and quite honestly, the only reason Sherlock hadn't told her off using every fact about her he could deduce in a cold, clinical tone was that he genuinely respected her mother, the ballet mistress. Besides that, Meg was fairly talented, though Sherlock had to constantly bite his tongue during rehearsal to keep from correcting minor faults in her technique. The fact that he consulted with the police on the weekends would possibly have helped his reputation even further-if his brother hadn't insisted on keeping it secret.

Sherlock shook his head out of these thoughts and turned them to the upcoming premiere. They were performing the _Rite of Spring_ by Igor Stravinsky. Difficult for both the musicians and the dancers, it was a notorious ballet with very good reason. It was an incredibly unorthodox piece, both when it premiered and from a contemporary perspective, which was partially what led to its popularity. But the real catch of _Rite of Spring_ was its _violence_. It was a piece originally depicting a pagan ritual, selecting and sacrificing a maiden as a price for the return of spring. In accordance with this, the music was jarring, at often times bitonal, and altogether, well, unpredictable. It was so unpredictable, in fact, that it had caused a riot on the day of its premiere. As ballets went, it was one of Sherlock's all time favorites. The question was whether the new conductor would be able to keep up.

Sherlock smiled grimly. This was a serious matter, and there was no reason for him to tolerate incompetence. As the Chosen Sacrifice of this production (originally the part was for a girl, but many modern productions chose to use a male dancer for the role), Sherlock would be critical of the newcomer to ensure success. He would have a few tests of his own for the conductor to pass.

He arrived onstage and stood somewhat to the side, ignoring the other dancers. Instead, he stared unabashedly toward where the choreographer stood next to the conductor's podium, and the woman standing next to him.

"Everyone, this is Rose Tyler. She'll be substituting for the music director in the premiere. There's no need to be upset or worried; Miss Tyler is extremely accomplished and well versed. We can still pull this off. All right, let's get to work. From the beginning of Act One." The dancers muttered among themselves as they took up their positions. Sherlock, meanwhile, studied the conductor. He was surprised, no, _jarred_, by what he observed there. _Not a natural blonde, exercises regularly, grew up poor, extensive traveler, single mother, remarried, younger brother, former secret almost-government worker, shopgirlintelligentcatloverpracticaldresserBadWolfBadWolfBadWolf…_

Sherlock blinked, taking a moment to process the near sensory overload that was Rose Tyler. He knew who she was now, recalling the Vitex heiress from the tabloids, though she had never been of real interest to him before. Sherlock smirked. He was going to have so much fun with this.

* * *

**Okay, here's where I seriously need all of your help. I seriously want to continue this AU because it would just be a lot of fun for me and will hopefully give me incentive to crack down on my own musical studies this summer, for research purposes if nothing else. So, what do you guys want to see in the coming chapters? A crime scene? Should Sherlock discover that he really wants to be a detective and not a dancer? Should the Doctor become involved, and if so, what regeneration and what companions? I'm all for requests and any suggestions you might have.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks for all the suggestions and reviews and follows! Here's chapter two.**

**For those who are not familiar with music/musical terms: a score is basically a giant book that the conductor uses filled with tiny print of all the parts of each musical instrument/vocal parts so the conductor knows what's going on with all instruments at any given time. Sometimes they're significantly marked up. Others prefer to work from clean scores.**

**For those not familiar with balletic terms, an arabesque is a certain ballet position and I really can't explain it better than that because I know nothing about ballet.**

* * *

Rose wiped her forehead. She had long ago tied her hair back in a messy bun, but it didn't prevent the beads of sweat that had formed on her forehead. Conducting was hard work, and Rite of Spring required intense concentration. She waved her hand for the orchestra to stop for what seemed like the thousandth time, but this time for a break.

"Take a break, everyone," she said wearily. "We'll be back in fifteen minutes for Act II." Rose sat down in her chair and drank some water, squinting at the score. Act I had gone relatively smoothly, though there had been some issues with volume changes and other dynamics. Most of them, she knew, would resolve themselves in a few days, since they were mostly problems only because of her own conducting style being different than the other conductor's. That still meant that Act II was going to have some major issues today, unfortunately.

Rose needed to get away for a moment. Her eyes stung from squinting at the score, which she had heavily marked (and thank God, because she wouldn't have been able to pull this off on such short notice without major marking. She was glad her professor in college had been so insistent upon it, no matter how much she hated it at the time) so she walked out of the auditorium, out of the building, into the open air. And she couldn't help but smile, because despite immediate problems, she was unbelievably happy. This was what she was really meant to do, she felt. Or at the very least, this was one way she felt grounded, and it was less dangerous than heading a Torchwood team.

"That's not a standard issue gun in your pocket," came a voice to her left. Rose turned, instantly guarded, to see a tall, curly-haired man that she recognized as the Royal Ballet's principal male dancer, though she couldn't remember ever knowing what his name was. He was casually smoking a cigarette, leaning against the facade of the building. "Which means you're not police; you're government. Still, you conduct exceptionally well and professionally, so you must have gone to school for it. You've also travelled extensively and obviously observed many foreign conductors, since it shows in many of your patterns, which I would call an innovative, if unorthodox combination of early twentieth century styles and obvious Asian and Greek influences. You're also trained in several advanced forms of combat, but you're of slightly above average intelligence. Now the only question remaining is: why are you here?" Despite her shock, Rose was impressed.

"Aren't you a regular Sherlock Holmes?" she joked while subtly positioning herself into an optimal defensive position, observing her adversary. Advantage in height and weight but she might outmatch him in speed, and she fought mean. The man, in the meanwhile, blinked in confusion.

"Well, yes, that is my name," he said, completely thrown off by her comment. Now _she_ was confused, disguising it with a laugh.

"Come off it," Rose said. "Your name is Sherlock Holmes? Your parents must be huge Arthur Conan Doyle fans." When he looked at her with utter incomprehension, she realized her mistake. "Oh my God-no way," she realized, putting a palm out in the universal sign for 'wait'. "No way," she repeated, staring at the man in front of her. "But this doesn't make sense," Rose muttered to herself. "Aren't you a detective, though?" Rose blurted, then immediately cursed herself. Sherlock stared at her, suddenly on guard himself and ready for the possibility of a fight. Rose saw him subtly looking for gunmen or snipers in the surrounding area, and wondered why what she said had provoked such a reaction.

"I do consult with Scotland Yard on some of their harder cases, but only when my schedule permits, and I do so anonymously," he said with narrowed eyes, every hair in his body on edge. "How could you possibly have known that?" Rose racked her brains for a reasonable explanation, fast. She remembered distinctly her father complaining at dinner one night about a man named Mycroft Holmes...

"Your brother told me," she said blindly, hoping to God she wasn't making a huge mistake by saying that.

"We'll see about that," he said lowly, with just enough of a growl to make Rose shiver slightly.

"If it makes you feel better, your brother told my father and my father told me," she amended, thinking that would probably be best. Hastily, she checked her watch, and sped past Sherlock back inside. Rose's mind was racing, but the mystery of why Sherlock Holmes, a renowned nineteenth-century _fictional_ detective, was here in the twenty-first century, as the principal male dancer of the Royal Ballet, would have to wait. Right now, there was a production to save.

So Rose put it out of her mind, or as far out of her mind as she could, since Sherlock's role was far more prominent in Act II than it was in Act I. She sighed. It was going to be a long couple of days.

* * *

A smoking blue police box landed unceremoniously in an abandoned alleyway in the middle of the early afternoon, billowing smoke and wheezing.

"Out, out, all of you now!" the Doctor exclaimed in a cough, waving his companions out the door. Three people emerged: Amy, Rory, and River.

"I don't know _why_ I _ever_ let you fly her," River snarled. "Fans on!" she shouted to the inside of the ship. Gradually, the smoke began to clear.

"It's not my fault we got ripped through one of those cracks; if you hadn't asked me to come in the first place-"

"Oh, sweetie, don't pretend you're not as concerned about the cracks as I am-"

"The point is, River, that the TARDIS will be out of power for a day or two, and it would have been less if you'd just listened to me, so we're stuck on a parallel world for the time being." The Doctor smiled a big, gap-toothed smile, and rubbed his hands together in excitement, licking one and putting his finger out to test the air. "It's London, but the differences should be fun, eh?"

"Doctor," Amy tugged on his hand, pointing upwards. The Doctor, meanwhile, was coaxing his still-irritated wife out the TARDIS door, and didn't immediately see what she was pointing at.

"River, come on, the TARDIS is fine-" the Doctor stopped mid-sentence, staring at the sky with eyes like a frightened animal. His mind had gone blank with roaring white static. He was barely aware of his own footsteps carrying him out of the alley as he continued to gaze at the sky, and then all around himself as if in a trance.

Zeppelins. Zeppelins in the sky, over a parallel London. And Pete Tyler's face in a street advertisement. And then the worst and best possible thing of all: the Doctor snatched a newspaper off a nearby stand, not because he was at all interested in knowing the date or current events, but because of the face on the cover.

_Rose Tyler_.

"Rose Tyler, Vitex heiress, takes over Royal Ballet Orchestra in an emergency," Rory read over his shoulder. "The principal conductor, who was hospitalized Tuesday after a car accident-Doctor, is this important?"

The Doctor was silent for far too long before he realized he'd been asked a question, and it was still at the back of his mind, like a fog had drifted over all his thoughts and senses because he could only register one thing: _Rose Tyler was here._ She looked so beautiful in the photograph, hair tied back in a bun, the current shade of blonde much more natural than what he'd seen her with last, smile quirking up on the corners of her mouth as she held a white baton.

"Rose," he finally said. "Rose is here." He didn't want to smile, wanted to focus on the mystery of the parallel world but he _knew_ this parallel world already. And Rose Tyler was here.

"Doctor, do you know her?" Amy asked tentatively, glancing between his face and the newspaper.

"Yes," he said shakily, unable to tear his eyes from the picture.

"Hang on," Rory said, squinting at the page at another picture just below the first, of a man in a stunning arabesque. "This says 'principal male dancer Sherlock Holmes'." Everyone looked at the Doctor, who grinned and glanced back at the newspaper. River, to the Doctor's guilt, looked unsure. It was not an expression he was used to seeing on her face, and he took her hand.

"An adventure, then," he said, though his behind his smile, his heart was racing at the thought of encountering the Bad Wolf once more. "The premiere is in two days; we can get investigate and then get in with the psychic paper. Who's up for the ballet?"

* * *

**SURPRISE! The Doctor's here. Ordinarily I would have introduced the Doctor a lot later than the second chapter in order to establish Sherlock and Rose's relationship a lot more, but I know me. And if I don't get in the majority of the plot soon, this will not end well. Therefore, second chapter it is. Their actual meeting will probably take place in two or possibly three chapters for just that previous reason (developing Sherlock and Rose's relationship first. Don't worry, I have a plan where I didn't before. Now at least I have three different subplots that will hopefully tie into a bigger main plot. Keep your fingers crossed!).**

**And in case you didn't get it: this will not be an Eleven/Rose story. I firmly ship River and Eleven for deeply personal reasons that I won't bother explaining. This story will be reflective of that. Now, I won't sugarcoat her personality or her arguments with the Doctor or anything like that, but I will portray her how I understand her character, which is through an admittedly somewhat biased, loving lense.**


End file.
